The Falling
by janya.wrote.nightrose
Summary: It is not the flight, but the impact, that one must fear. A story on the exceptionally long life of Esme Cullen. Rated T for themes of abuse and mild language. Read and Review, s'il vous plait.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a multi-chaptered fic. Please REVIEW and FAVORITE!**

_It began with a fall._

It is a bright day in early summer. I, Esme Anne Platt, have just reached my sixteenth birthday. I have no husband, no prospects, and that suits me just fine.

My mother is not so pleased. She had a fancy I will end up wed to her friend Mrs. Evenson's son.

My father is downright furious. Every day that passes brings me closer, in his eyes, to perpetual maidenhood, an idea that does not much suit him. After all, an unmarried daughter brings no dowry, no connections, and no income.

However, I am disinclined to marry. I have never met a man who suits me, perhaps because, by all accounts, I act rather like one myself. For instance, at this precise moment in time, I have a proper assignment- embroidery.

Instead of engaging myself indoors with needle and thread as instructed, I am out here, in our garden, speculatively eyeing a large oak tree.

It is a perfect enemy. I smile once at my prey before I begin the assault.

I take a running leap, jumping onto the trunk, latching my arms and legs securely around it.

My long limbs are barely an adequate length to grasp the thick trunk, but I manage. Once I am sturdy in my grip, I swing my left arm, grabbing the lowest branch. Then I move my other arm to the same position. I place the weight of my body (one hundred and seventeen pounds) in them, lifting my legs clear.

My skirts become something of a hindrance as I try to reach the same branch with my feet. I have to move them at the same time, bound as they are by the fabric.

How I wish I could wear pants.

Of course, that was ludicrous. Such a thing was shameful.

I grumble to myself at that. It's really quite silly. I know I am just as bright as any man, and yet I am treated as though I'm made of porcelain.

I finally wrap my knees around the branch. With four limbs around that limb, I begin to clamber onto the next one.

I have to stand to reach it.

This happens time and again.

However, I have very good balance. It's a necessary thing when one is attempting to climb a tree in petticoats.

I made it up to the peak, and looked down at the world beneath me. The green leaves are slightly wilting in summer's first heat, as all the earth swings into life.

It is astoundingly beautiful. At the peak of the tree, the world is laid out beneath me like a buffet platter, mine to choose the finest fruits of.

I have all the options I desire.

I am more free than I ever have been before.

I lift my head up and laugh, loudly, to the azure sky.

It gives no answer.

I peer back downwards, looking directly beneath.

It is fascinating, the intricate play of leaf on leaf, of sweet morning grasses and small hopping birds.

I stare downward, leaning further into the sight…

_And fall._

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	2. Chapter 2

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_To here she fell…_

It is some hours later that I come to.

Possibly days, as the sky is dark and I am in an entirely unfamiliar setting. It is a hospital bed, but not the familiar office of the small-town doctor my parents patronize, Dr. Miler.

The man who gazes down at me is as far from the stodgy, middle-aged Dr. Miler as is imaginable.

I shan't go into his appearance now. I haven't the space to fill up. Leave it for a time with less to think about.

It is rather hard to think about anything at all while he is here.

He stares into my eyes with a detached intensity. The most apparent thing about this stranger, besides his incredible beauty- I've never before called a man beautiful, but there's nothing else to term him- is the way he so clearly _cares_.

And then I hear his voice for the first time. I may never hear anything else so long as I live.

"Hello, Ms. Platt. I'm Dr. Cullen. Dr. Miler is ill today, and your parents brought you here. You're going to be here for a while. If you'd prefer, call me Carlisle- I've a feeling we're going to get to know each other rather well."

It isn't often an adult asks me to take such familiarity, or affords me the respect of my last name. Generally, I am called by my given name, even by complete strangers. It irks me, yet I find myself wishing his melodious voice would say my name.

"Then you must call me Esme," I say in my most convincing tone, rather weakened by the sheer shock I am experiencing. It is a most curious combination of physical pain and euphoria.

He smiles. It is similar in appearance to a sunrise. His teeth are perfect, straight, even, and as white as the clouds whose beauty I'd been enjoying just before my fall… which reminds me…

"Did I break my leg… Carlisle?" Though I am honestly curious as to the answer, the majority of my mind is delighting in the sound of that name. It is odd and foreign, beautiful, and yet somehow… manly.

I stifle a blush at the thought.

He appears, or at least pretends, not to notice my shame. "It's a fairly bad compound fracture. You'll be here at least a week, but I assure you it'll heal."

He smiles again, and I wouldn't mind if I had to stay in this hospital bed the rest of my life.

I am rather shocked at myself. Usually, as I said, I have little to do with boys, and less with men. Carlisle is decidedly in the latter category. Here I sit, or rather lie, and think borderline lascivious thoughts about an adult stranger who certainly has a professional interest in my well-being and nothing else.

Unfortunately- now what recess of my mind did that come from?

I should be ashamed of myself.

Yet I cannot muster the emotion.

Carlisle smiles at me again. "I'll be back in just a moment, Esme."

He walks away.

_And ever stays…_

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	3. Chapter 3

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_A different fall… _

It is not an hour before the doctor returns. His smile is piercingly tender. He seems to honestly want me to get better.

I, on the other hand, have dedicated myself to spend the absolute longest possible amount of time in this very hospital bed. The longer before I have to leave, the better. Why?

Because I have come to the appalling and yet intriguing conclusion that I fancy Dr. Cullen. It is strange, and rather disturbing, that all my friends are enamored of boys our age, young and handsome. Of course, Carlisle only looks about twenty, so he may not be all that unreasonable. However, there is little to point to the possibility he has any interest in a wife, especially one like me- if he isn't already married. Yet this is not the time or such thoughts. As he approaches, I cease caring about anything in the range of reality, and instead turn my attention to the way he smiles.

"Esme, are you all right?"

"In all honesty, I've been better." My leg feels as though the bone protruding from it has split it in two.

"I'm sorry. I would have set your leg sooner, but I prefer to get the more mundane work finished first. I would prefer you not have a distracted doctor trying to place your skeleton back in alignment."

I realize he talks like the hero from one of my books. He is romantic, his language flowery and creative rather than the simple speech of my parents and schoolmates.

"I appreciate that," I reply, and he laughs.

It is the first time I have heard such a perfect sound, and I resolve I will cause it again as soon as possible. His laugh trills like a bell. It is a surprising levity in this solemn young man.

"Well, I presume it is time to fix up your leg, though I regret to say you'll have to stay here for a while afterwards. You may have to tolerate my presence. Dr. Milers will be ill for some time and I am the only other doctor in the hospital. This is a complicated break. You'll need a licensed physician to set it." I smile. I am glad my worries this is our last encounter can be safely dispelled. He looks at my leg, then carefully touches the skin around the small protuberance of bone. I am forced to choke back a scream. The pain is almost nauseating in its ferocity. However, the touch of his cool skin is oddly comforting about the firey skin. It also lights my heart aflame.

"Does this hurt, Esme?"

"Not inconsiderably so," I choke out.

"You are very brave. I must warn you I'll have to set it. It won't be comfortable. In fact, it may hurt a good deal." Somehow, I am reassured by the fact he says it will hurt, since the typical adult continually says there is no pain involved in a given procedure, and there always is.

"If you relax, it will be easier," he says. It is remarkably possible to do so with the soothing touch of his strong hand on my leg. He grasps the shard of bone and yanks it, swiftly, from my calf. I do not scream, but I am rather tempted to faint. However, I decide it is more important to retain his good opinion of me. After all, it shan't hurt less if I do scream.

_ Fall in love…_


	4. Chapter 4

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_Ground shall catch…_

His cool hands are on my forehead now. I know there is nothing romantic in the touch- such a thing would be hideously forbidden. He is merely attempting to calm me. After all, there is an alarming… or rather embarrassing… amount of sweat on my brow. I'd much rather this attractive man touch me when I am at my fittest and calmest. However, it is highly unlikely any but the most professional of circumstances will ever be in place when I am touched by this man or any other.

"I need to set the bone- that means I'll…"

"Have to snap it back into place." Now he too treats me like a fool? Stupid girl, Esme, deluding yourself, creating a perfect man before he's spoken twenty words in a row to you.

His response redeems him utterly. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I merely thought… sometimes I get a bit carried away in medical terminology. It can confuse patients, and they could be ashamed to admit they don't know what I mean."

"I wouldn't be."

He eyes me speculatively. I try to look pretty, rather difficult when one is horizontal on a hospital bed with a leg that is so much dead weight.

"Then from now on, I shall say exactly as I think, and you tell me if you require clarification."

"Agreed."

"So, is it time to set your leg?" He smiles. It is such a wondrous expression I lose myself in it for an instant, before compelling myself to respond.

"Oh. Yes, I suppose I'm ready."

He smiles again, this time less teasingly than apologetically. I grit my teeth and prepare for the pain of his hands on my bruised skin. Again, however, I am distracted as he peers deep into my eyes, rendering me totally oblivious to what's going on. I do not realize until I feel the ice on my skin, his hands so smooth and cool. Even then, with his eyes locked on mine, it seems more a caress than the prelude to pain. I do not wince, and I suppose that may make it easier.

Suddenly, I feel his hands shift with irresistible strength. It is just an instant before I feel the one shard of bone make swift and painful contact with the other.

It is painful. The bone has been broken to points which stab the interior muscles of my leg.

However, once again, I feel the pain, but I don't really care. I won't say I've fallen in love with Dr. Carlisle Cullen… only that he's moving around sharp objects within my bruised and sore appendage and I don't really care.

He breaks his intense gaze for an instant, and as I am released from that spell, I find myself wondering if I should be worried he spent the whole time looking at me and not at the leg he was manipulating.

I can't find the energy to be nervous.

"I'll just bind that up for you, and then I'm sure your parents need to come in."

I wince at that.

"Esme? You didn't flinch at all when I set your leg, but the thought of a visit from your own parents terrifies you?"

His concern is apparent, and quite misplaced. "My parents are very good. They are simply going to be quite displeased with me."

His eyes turn, if possible, more sympathetic. "Ah. I'll have a word with them… very delicate, definitely adequately disciplined, I'll speak to her personally, wouldn't want to disrupt her health. I've an obligation not to lie to my patients, but I'm afraid the Hippocratic Oath doesn't extend to your parents."

I smile brightly. "Thank you, Carlisle."

_With soft stone arms…_

__

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	5. Chapter 5

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_Fall from safety…_

My father and mother are somewhat cowed when they enter. I wager Carlisle has read them something of an impressive lecture. He could probably be intimidating if he wanted to… though he's never shown anything but compassion to me.

"Hello, Esme," my mother says.

"Hello, Mother."

"Dear… I know you're healing, but you must understand, it simply isn't _proper_…"

I adopt the appropriate so very sorry face and turn its full charm upon my parents. "I know. I must have shamed you terribly. Dr. Cullen spoke with me," I know better than to use his given name around my prudish and proper parents, "and I fully understand. Please, forgive me." Here, I stuck out my lip, caused my eyes to swell wide, and winced a bit in pain.

Mother looks aghast. "Esme, dearest, I didn't mean to scold! Sweet, are you all right?"

This time, my face is the so very brave one. "I'll be fine."

"I think we'll leave you to your rest. Marian?" My father offers my mother his arm.

"Good-night."

I smile as they leave, and then allow my face to relax. Carlisle turns from the patient he'd been attending to and grins widely at me, with the same adorable enjoyment apparent in his laugh.

"Esme, I didn't realize you were such a manipulator!"

I blush. I find myself wishing that he thought only the best of me, and manipulating one's parents shamelessly isn't precisely the way to gain affection from an honorable and kind man. "Well, I suppose it's easier if they hear what they want to."

"I quite understand. I find it ludicrous a girl, even one so intrepid as you, should be stuck inside all day long. The world is lovely. I think it perfectly reasonable you'd sneak a little fresh air now and again."

"Really?" No one has ever thought it anything but silly fantasy to be constantly craving trees, and air, and freedom.

I had begun to think it rather unnatural, but if Carlisle doesn't think so, I guess he's right.

"Absolutely. Actually, it's healthier if you exercise that leg, to promote healing… once it's no longer broken. Strengthen it through walks, or climbing, though I doubt I can convince your parents to allow that. However, they might bow to my authority in the area of a few walks."

"You have no idea what a relief that will be." I can feel myself dying, shut inside as I am most days, wilting from lack of sunlight like I am truly the delicate flower my mother insists a lady should be.

"Anything I can do," he promises. I smile again. "So, Esme, we're going to be here a while, and the rest of the patients are asleep… I doubt a girl with a newly broken limb will rest particularly well. I'd like to get to know you a little better."

"Of course." I am tired, but he's right. My leg aches and burns, and he is far more interesting than the oblivion surrounding dreams.

_Into life…_

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	6. Chapter 6

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_Fall in his arms…_

"What do you do with the days, when not waging epic battles with trees, of course?"

"Nothing interesting, I'm afraid. Mostly, I shirk my obligations and scrounge time outdoors."

"Do you go to school?"

"Not anymore. My parents are trying to marry me off." Curses! Why must he be so easy to talk to? I didn't mean to say that. Not at all…

However, he is surprised when he answers. "You're not wed?"

I proffer a ring-less hand. "No."

"And you don't have a suitor?"

"Not one I'm interested in." I could name a man I wouldn't mind the courtship of. He's blonde, kind, sitting in this room right now, and has a name that starts with a C and ends with an –arlisle.

"Ah." Carlisle looks away from me, and I wonder why.

"Are you married?" I ask. It's not exactly a proper question, but I doubt he'll care.

"No. I live by myself…"

I am shoved into the recollection I am little more than a child in Carlisle's perspective, barely old enough to be called a woman, much less a wife. "Oh."

"You sound disappointed?"

I don't know what the response to that was. Well, I was hoping the subject of marriage would get you on one knee? Not precisely something I can say. "I do?"

He smiles. "Shall I get some ice for your leg? It must be uncomfortable."

Not so much as this conversation has become. "Thank you."

He returns in instants, leaving me no time to consider the ramifications of this chat… and what my options are. Because I am sure of one thing. If I ever marry, I will marry him.

I am surprised at myself. I do not recall coming to this conclusion, but it is quite determined. Strange, and most unlike the Esme Anne Platt I thought myself familiar with.

He places the ice on my leg. I notice his hands are no warmer. Perhaps it's a result of carrying the ice, though I recall similar thoughts when he set the bone. No matter, really.

He resumes the conversation. "Do you like to read?"

"Yes." It's a most scandalous pastime for a girl, especially the sort of novels I prefer… no, don't look at me like that. I mean adventure stories, with true love and wild escapades and dragons, et cetera.

"Have you ever read Shakespeare? I know it's old and musty. Most young people prefer to touch classics only with the largest of sticks…"

"My favorite play is Romeo and Juliet," I interrupt. His ramble was beginning to sound almost insecure.

"Really?"

"It's most famous for the love, of course, which is really compelling… but I enjoy that even though it's a tragedy, there are so many lighter moments. The scenes between Juliet and the nurse are my favorite."

"I like the sword fights," he says. "Have you ever seen it performed?"

"Been to the theater? No. My parents… would never allow such a thing."

"A shame." I see him consider something, and then dismiss it.

"What's your favorite?" I ask.

He looks curiously, weighing. "Until very recently, Macbeth. But I think I may agree with you."

Could I be this change in him, even so minor a one?

_ Fool and fail and fall safe…_

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	7. Chapter 7

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_Never rise…_

"I love you, Carlisle." I practice saying it, very quietly, over and over. Whenever his back is turned, during the eight hours he leaves the hospital to sleep, I whisper it. "I love you, Carlisle." I scarcely sleep, and usually only can while he's here. I'd want to spend the required unconscious hours during the time I can't see him, but I need the comfort.

"I love you, Carlisle." I spend the eight hours reading the books he smuggles in, fantastic stories the likes of which I had no idea existed, and whispering those four words.

"I love you, Carlisle."

I probably should keep it down. The other six or seven people on the ward, however, shuffle in and out so quickly in a day or two, that I don't worry about their opinion.

I am frightened one of the nurses will notice.

It's strange. Carlisle is kind to everyone, but I've never witnessed a conversation the likes of those he has with me… nothing nearly so intimate, so personal. He's mostly professional. I wonder why that is.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Lying on a hospital bed incapable of movement wondering whether or not a man likes me. This is ridiculous.

I scoff at myself and grab the book left on the bedside table. _Treasure Island._ It is fascinating. The story moves so much quicker than I am used to. However, I am continually distracted. The book has nothing to do with the situation, and yet the tiniest things keep reminding me of him. "I love you, Carlisle."

In a few days, I will leave this hospital. I may never see him again. I have to decide whether or not I can tell him.

I am beginning to suspect he finds me at least intriguing. I know in physical attractiveness I cannot compare, but at least he enjoys my company.

It is a scandalous thing, a girl beginning a courtship with a man rather than the other way around, but Carlisle never seems to care what is and isn't proper.

Yet I am not sure I'll have the gumption to do it. I couldn't stand being rejected in that way…

I don't know what to do. But I think I have to wait. Waiting has never been easy for me, as I am naturally something of a restless person, but it seems the best choice.

Best choices stink.

I smile at that, and then laugh. The vibration sends shaking tremors down my painful leg, sending a fierce fire up my body. I would start crying, but that would only make it hurt more.

Though I am brave in most respects, if I do say so myself, I have always feared pain. This is so hard for me… the only thing getting me through it is Carlisle.

I am very glad Dr. Milers took sick that day, or this recuperation would be aided by my scolding parents, not by a warm-hearted cold-handed intelligent loving understanding man.

I put the book down in despair. He walks into the room just as I give up on comprehending the story.

_Fallen forever…_

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	8. Chapter 8

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_Last chance lost…_

"Hello, Esme."

"Hello, Carlisle." I flush crimson at the words. _I love you, Carlisle._ How is one expected to say that? Can it be so simple as those words… _I love you. _It is a remarkably complex emotion to be expressed so easily. Perhaps, however, easy isn't the right word. The words are, but the speaking of them is proving impossible.

He looks away from me. "I am glad to tell you that your leg is almost healed enough to send you home. You'll be returning tomorrow."

No. No. Don't make me go away! I'd break my leg again if I could, if it meant I could stay here with the only person who's ever understood me. "Oh."

"However, I remembered our conversation. About _Romeo and Juliet?_ Well, I discovered that the Ohio Shakespearean Company is bringing it to the stage in town. I would be honored if you would like to come see it with me."

"I'd love to," almost as much as I love you. I may not have to say it after all.

"The curtain will rise at seven. I'll send a telegram to your parents to come pick you up tomorrow, as they returned home two days ago."

They hadn't even said good-bye. "I'm not sure they'll approve of this outing. They like you, but…"

"My dear Esme, who says they have to know?"

I laugh at that. "What an excellent point you make."

"They left your clothing in the custody of one of the nurses. I'll send Ms. James in. She is the least loquacious of them all. The rest are somewhat likely to spread the story of this evening from here to New York. She can help you get changed. I doubt you'd like to spend your first day at the theater in a hospital gown."

I blush. This paper-thin and hideous dress is the only thing he's ever seen me in… and he's still apparently somewhat interested, maybe. Perhaps wearing actual clothing will only increase my hopes.

"Thank you," I say. "Thank you so much."

"My pleasure." His eyes sparkle as he leaves the room. "My shift has just ended, so I'll be back in about an hour to escort you to the theater."

I am excited about the play, but far more so about his company. I've always wanted to see things beyond the narrow range of the world I have to live in… but I want to make him a art of the world I end up living in.

The nurse comes in, smiling widely. She drags an over-stuffed brown trunk, familiar from my father's business trips. I feel somewhat guilty that I leave the woman to carry it alone, but I can't walk, so it's a moot point.

"So, Miss Platt, going out with the doctor, are we? My, but we're a lucky girl."

I have always been mildly irritated by people who refer to the person they talk to as "we". Then again, Carlisle seems to like her. I don't know how to answer the nurse, or quite what to think about her.

"Yes, let's get you dressed."

She is busy, caring, almost motherly, not that my mother ever had any interest in clothing besides criticizing my lack of tidiness.

The nurse selects a white dress I usually avoid wearing, as I've a paranoid fear of staining it. However, I'm not precisely likely to be climbing trees in my state, so I don't worry about it. It is by far the most attractive piece of clothing in my possession. The skirt flares, covered in thin eyelet over the satin skirt and tight blouse. The back is daringly bare- I cut it off in a fit of rage at my mother. She still hasn't noticed.

It looks almost like a wedding gown.

It is not easy to get it on with my bulky broken leg.

_Though far from final fall._

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	9. Chapter 9

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_Walk along ground,_

He is exceptionally beautiful in the tuxedo he wears, very neat in pitch-black clothes, golden and perfect.

He smiles just at me. "Esme. You look so beautiful."

I blush for the hundredth time. In most women, the excessive flush is a fawning affectation I despise, yet I cannot seem to keep blood out of my cheeks around Carlisle. "You, also, look very nice." Is that acceptable to say? Why am I suddenly so anxious?

"Thank you. May I?" He offers me his arm. I take it, of course… I can't walk on my own. His skin is frigid even through the cloth, enough that my hand shakes a bit. I stand, agonizingly, and he steadies my arm on his.

I look into his eyes in gratitude- a mistake. A brief moment passes between us. I'm not sure exactly what it is, but a shiver runs down my spine.

I see his lips frame silent words. It could almost be my name.

"Carlisle," I whisper. He turns toward me and leans his head inward. The distance between our faces closes. I cannot move or even think, so locked am I in the trajectory of his eyes. His lips are close to mine- I can feel cool breath blowing in my face. He smells sweet- wonderful, in fact.

Abruptly, he jerks away from me, and I look down in disappointment. What happened? Had he intended to… to kiss me? Why didn't he?

"I'm sorry," he mutters, and I am about to reply when the nurse walks in. Perhaps he heard her approach. Maybe at the theater…

I am somewhat ashamed to think so lewdly. This is far from maidenly behavior, and yet I cannot bring myself to care when I look at him.

I walk very carefully, putting the weight of my body on my left leg and Carlisle's arm. He carries it without any sign of distress, so I don't worry the break at all. There is an automobile waiting. I stare at it. I have never seen one before.

"I thought you might not want to walk the whole way," he says, and I laugh. "What is it?"

"It's just that for most people, an automobile isn't exactly the solution to being unable to walk."

"Well, I wasn't going to ask you to ride a horse. You might muss your pretty dress."

I smile and straighten said garment. He carefully guides me into the Victoria Coupe, offering an arm so that I can swing my immobile leg without putting pressure on it- climbing into an automobile can be tricky at the best of times, as the seat is four feet from the ground.

He closes the door with exaggerated gentleness and walks around the car. The engine roars to life, and we're off.

I can hardly contain my delight. I am riding in an automobile to a theater with a ludicrously handsome man. It belongs in a storybook, not in my mundane life.

The streets are rickety and bumpy, and pedestrians glare as we rumble past them, but I am far too embroiled in delight to care.

_A fall safe and sound…_

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	10. Chapter 10

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_Sound the bells and call…_

The curtain draws back. We are seated quite comfortably in luxurious velvet chairs, side by side in the theater. The room is darkened, the immense chandelier having been dimmed minutes ago. The lack of light prevents me from seeing his face… but the dark is electric between us.

The stage is dark, and a voice speaks from it.

"Two households alike in dignity, in fair Verona where we lay our scene, from ancient grudge break to new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean, from forth the fatal loins of these two foes, a pair of star-crossed lovers takes their lives…"

"Lovely," I murmur in Carlisle's ear, hoping he won't be angry I've disrupted him, "Now they've ruined the ending before the show even starts."

"Well, if you don't know how _Romeo and Juliet _ends, I doubt you've any chance of understanding what they mean," he retorts, stifling a laugh.

It only goes up from there.

The light comes up. The stage is illuminated, though the woman's voice that spoke the opening part is nowhere to be seen. Instead, two men take the stage, wearing doublets and hose of a clearly uniform nature. I am familiar with the play, having read it more than once. Shakespeare is one of the few reading materials my parents reluctantly allow.

I quite like this play. A man in a contrasting uniform- a servant of the Montagues- enters, trades some witty insults that fly over most audience's heads, and draws his blade. Not five minutes in and there's already a full-blown swordfight. No wonder the groundlings have been forking over their sixpence since the seventeenth century to see this play.

Carlisle and I laugh when Montague and Capulet turn to fight each other, and the wives of the aging patriarchs scold them. The other audience members hiss at us to be quiet, as they do not understand, but we both see the humor in the intricate language… and it is especially comical to hear, "A crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword?" when I am so splendidly and obviously in need of one- a crutch, not a blade.

We are anxious as the Prince threatens exile, irritated and amused in turns as the comical Benvolio and Nurse discuss marriage of the lovers… to other people. The first act passes remarkably quickly, in fact… too quickly. The acting is superb, not that I've much to compare it too. Though Juliet is far too old for the part (it specifically says fourteen) she is beautiful in the sort of way that makes me achingly jealous. Romeo, on the other hand, is not exactly a looker, certainly nothing compared to the man beside me.

As I think those words, I feel an unexpected something. Carlisle gently and tenderly takes my hand, placing our intertwined fingers between the two of us. It is an incredible sensation. I smile at him as the curtain falls on act one.

_Watch the laughing fall…_

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	11. Chapter 11

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_Watch the age grow tall…_

There is only a brief pause, however, before the love sets in.

Not my own, that onstage.

I stare as the brilliantly outfitted players take the stage, each holding a golden candle, the entire stage shining with the light. Every costume is beautiful. However, far more interesting is the acting. Each one clearly understand what is going on. The actor who plays Romeo, however, is far outshone. Carlisle hisses a line into my ear.

"O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!

It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night

Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear;

Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!

So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,

As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.

The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,

And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.

Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!

For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."

I smile at this. Could he truly find me beautiful? Is he just showing off his knowledge of the Shakespeare… it doesn't seem like him. Not at all. The only other option that presents itself is that he truly wants to pursue me, to make me want him as I deeply do.

I reply, after a few moments, with Juliet's line, hoping to show my feeling in a way that doesn't seem too obvious. When the two meet, his hand holding hers, beautifully and romantically posed with Juliet's dress shining the same gold as the light, she speaks, and so do I.

"Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,

Which mannerly devotion shows in this;

For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,

And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss… Carlisle." The last word is, obviously, my own addition. As I speak, I squeeze the twined fingers. Carlisle smiles at me and lifts the hand he holds to his face. Gently, his ice cold lips press against my skin for the briefest of instants. They are very soft and smooth.

"But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with grief,

That thou her maid art far more fair than she:

Be not her maid, since she is envious;

Her vestal livery is but sick and green

And none but fools do wear it; cast it off," the actor states in the next scene, staring up a balcony upon the girl he loves.

I turn orange at this. Truly, I can feel the blood in my face rushing. Could he be thinking about… about that? I am physically pure, as inexperienced as Juliet, and I know Carlisle is a grown man.

"Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand,

That I might touch that cheek," both men whisper. Carlisle gently strokes my cheek.

I am wrong to doubt. There are things more important than that… and the way Carlisle feels for me is, I think, one of them.

I say the next line too. "It is nor hand, nor foot,

Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part

Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!

What's in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet."

He grins a blushing grin. Ah, the joys of Shakespearean sex jokes. I am glad I can make him smile, even though it is most unlike me to make such references.

We do not speak for a while, enjoying instead the bantering action and joyful words. Each and every story entwines- that is what makes this wonderful. The characters are kind, sweet, clever. The dialogue is so witty and sweet and… very much Carlisle. Everything about this reminds me of him.

It makes me anxious. I am rather afraid, as the wedding onstage approaches, that I will do something rash, like throw myself at him in this crowded place. It is terrifying, but the curtain gets down safely. Intermission. The audience flees. Neither Carlisle nor I moves. Instead, we sit softly in our seats. He turns to me as the last person leaves.

_Falling looms…_

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	12. Chapter 12

**REVIEW!Fall in his arms…**

"Esme." That's all he says. And then his lips are on mine.

I gasp against him. His hands wind around my back, pressing my chest against his. His whole body is hard and cool as stone. His lips move fervently, and I can taste his sweet breath inside my mouth.

The kiss, my first, does not end. I have no objection. I could stay here forever. Apparently, his need to breathe has become as little forceful as mine. I could care less about anything but him.

So I do not. I consume the fire of my soul in his icy lips, his smell, the taste of his mouth on mine.

It seems forever, and yet only an instant, before we break apart. I am unable to speak. The first thing he says, however, surprises me utterly.

"I'm so sorry."

"Why?"

He looks at me, his eyes ancient and wise and agonized. "Esme, darling, dearest, believe me. I… I care for you very deeply. You are an exceptional woman. I would be honored to spend the rest of my life with you, and yet I cannot offer you marriage. I can't explain why. It's something… otherworldly. More than I can tell you. And as much as I want to… so you see, there's really nothing I can give you. It is immoral of me to pursue you like this. I'm sorry."

"Who says I care? Carlisle, it can end tomorrow or never. I don't want you to stop…" I turn purple. So much for not having to say it. "I love you, Carlisle."

It is far from the flawless delivery I executed earlier, but at least it is out of my soul and in his ears. Maybe he will hear.

I see no joy or new resolution. Only grief on his face. "Esme, I can't… I can't say I don't love you too. But I need you to understand. Tonight, I may be able to be everything you need, but I'm leaving this town in two weeks. I cannot take you with me. I cannot stay past then. I will never see you again."

"I understand." And I don't care. I didn't expect him to marry me. My parents probably wouldn't like it. But if I have to spend the rest of my life without him, I'd like to have this memory to bring with me.

"It's so wrong… you're my patient…"

He bends down and kisses me again. There is less passion in the kiss, but much more sweetness.

"I love you," he murmurs, and the curtain rises.

This act, despite its fervor, despite the swordfights and passionate declarations of love, holds no interest. Carlisle does not pay any attention to it, nor do I. All I hear is the words echoing in my ears… "I love you."

The only interaction with the play is a line whispered beside me. It is not directed at me, but I can't help noticing.

"Hold thy desperate hand:

Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art:

Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote

The unreasonable fury of a beast:

Unseemly woman in a seeming man!

Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both…

Oh, my desperate hand… What am I supposed to do! God, please, tell me!"

The last line is his own. I didn't know Carlisle was a man of particular faith, but

his grievous near-silent cry makes it clear he truly cares for the matters beyond heaven and earth. I can't answer him. I don't know how I am connected to his pain any more than I have knowledge of the ability to still it.

All I know is that his pain pierces to my heart.

_Arms of fallen angels gold…_

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	13. Chapter 13

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_Golden growing gone…_

The next act is somewhat better. Though the action dwindles into tragedy, I am comforted. I make it admirably bravely through the majority of the stories, but when Romeo starts kissing "dead" Juliet… I break down in tears, still unable to tear my eyes away from the stage.

Carlisle pets my shoulder, stroking my back and arm. I am, of course, comforted. I know nothing bad will come of a few tears… it's only a story and an old one at that.

Somehow, though, the archetype affects particularly today. I am usually smarter than this. Usually I know where fantasy ends and reality begins… but the lines are all blurred.

My lips are still numb and on fire from the kiss, and the idea that I am loved by Carlisle is beginning to change exactly how real life is defined. I am not sure love worth dying for is impossible after all.

No, I'm not exactly vowing undying devotion. I've known this man less than a week. I'm merely saying I think I know where such powerful emotions can come from. Though not fully tapped, I have found that place in my soul.

It has consumed the heroine onstage, who blesses the dagger that will bring her to her lover. I am not that girl… not yet. But if I don't see reason soon, I very well may be. I'm getting a bit too into something that won't last more than twenty-four more hours. My parents will cart me back away from town, Carlisle will pack up and leave, and I'll never see him again.

I have to accept that.

Yet I might as well enjoy this temporary passion, this feeling not just worth living for… it teaches one how to live.

I smile then, because I know I have a little more time to enjoy it, and that when he is gone, when I am alone, I will know how to live properly and I can find some other reason for doing it.

I just wish I had some way to take that look of absolute misery off his face.

"A glooming peace this morning with it brings…"

I am not happy I can live without him, yet I know I can. And I need to know to live. I will. I can. That matters, doesn't it?

The curtain falls, and the audience rises to their feet, clapping and clapping. Of course, I stay in my seat… standing ovations are out for me for some time. Carlisle stands, then sees me sitting and crouches back down. We both applaud extra enthusiastically to make up for our position.

The actors bow and bow. The red curtain covers them one final time.

The instant it is over, the room buzzes with whispers and yells from the other audience members. Carlisle and I remain in our seats, of course, because it's so hard for me to walk.

"Carlisle, thank you. That was incredible."

"I'm glad you think so. I enjoyed it too," he says, and somehow I think he's not just talking about the show.

_Falling shelter…_

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	14. Chapter 14

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_Shelter falls…_

We continue to talk about the play, and nothing else, as the theater empties. I enjoy our conversation, as always, but I find myself oddly impatient. This intelligent discussion is wonderful, truly it is, but it has nothing to do with the things really on my mind.

Like that he loves me- Carlisle would never lie- and that he can't stay with me. I wonder desperately why that is, why he can't marry. Perhaps he has a crazy wife in an attic somewhere.

I almost laugh aloud at my own comical thought. If Carlisle had an insane dependant, I know he wouldn't be off courting sixteen-year-old girls. He'd be trying to help her. That's the person I know he is. So I can't imagine what, beyond any choice of his, might be keeping him from staying with me.

It is a mystery that deeply affects my actions.

The last people are leaving, and finally I broach the subject. "Carlisle, I know you have to leave, but why?"

He looks up and away, tilting his head so I can't see his eyes. It is a very defensive posture. "I have to. I can't tell you… I'm sorry."

"All right."

"Will you do me a favor?"

"Of course."

"Will you not speak of it anymore tonight? Tomorrow we can deal with the consequences of all this, but tonight…"

"Is too beautiful. You're right. I thought Juliet was too old for the part. What about you?"

"I don't know. I know the play says she's a child, but she acts like a woman. And times have changed so much. When I was… when this play was written, I think she would have been seen much differently, old to get married, even. As opposed to you…"

"Well, my mother thinks I am."

"I disagree. You're still so young."

"And you're not?"

He looks away. "No."

I do not pursue the topic. He clearly is unwilling to discuss his age… I wonder if it has anything to do with what he's not telling me. Simple logic would state it must. How many secrets can one man have?

He changes the subject. "It's only about ten. The show was short, as Shakespeare goes. Would you like to get something to eat?"

"I've never been to a restaurant, either." Then I blush. Was he asking me out to eat, or merely mentioning we should get up and head back to the hospital?

"Then I am honored to share the experience with you," he replies. I grin at him, a most carefree expression. That's a good word to describe my current state of mind… carefree. I shall simply set my worries aside and enjoy the moment.

I won't look ahead to the darkness of the rest of my life… because I know already I will never find another who shines as he does.

His hand wraps around my waist as we stand. He assists my walking much more intimately than on our entrance- could it have been but three hours ago?

We exit the theater so.

_Twining close, falling together…_

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	15. Chapter 15

**REVIEW! Laughing as they fall…**

He drives to a small restaurant. It is clearly far from inexpensive. I sigh. He should not be spending money on me, not when this has to end tonight. If he could woo me as wife, it would be another story. But for a doomed romance, a single day's love… it doesn't seem at all reasonable. However, I know better than to protest. He's asked me to keep this evening from the uncomfortable topics, and I find no harm in obliging him, not when he must be spending a month's wages on one night.

Again, I am guided from my seat by his ice cold touch. I relish in his skin's sensation, but the walking is painful. My leg burns and stings. I can feel the place where it should be connected. The break chafes against my muscles, aching, stinging.

The bandage is too tight, squeezing the painful area, but Carlisle insists this is what I need to heal as quickly as possible.

I never want to get better. This pain is small penance for his presence. I could have a broken leg for all eternity if he could be here.

However, I know he will leave nonetheless. So I have little choice but to let him go… when the time comes. It is not yet here. Enjoy the moment, Esme. Enjoy the moment.

And I do, splendidly so. I can have him so near, for what will certainly be the last time in my life.

We are led, by a black-suited and dour-faced man, to a table with a perfectly smoothed tablecloth. Carlisle pulls back my seat and I array my skirt neatly over the side before sitting.

I smile at him as he sits. The waiter brings two menus, with a wide spectrum of foods written in perfect script on thick white paper. Carlisle places his menu down on the table, obviously either a regular here or not intending to eat at all. I, on the other hand, survey the choices at length. I haven't the first idea what each food is. My mother feeds me at home. I eat what's placed in front of me or I don't eat at all.

In fact, that's an admirable way to sum up my entire life.

It is different to be with Carlisle. Here, I can choose everything, in any situation, from a bunch of choices I barely comprehend.

The menu, at least, I know the options and their number.

My future I cannot discern.

In a way that makes me suspect he can read minds, mirroring my musings, Carlisle inquires, "So, Esme, what do you intend to do with your life, your future?"

"I'm not certain. I know my parents would like me to marry… but I'm not particularly interested in anyone who would be an option." I take a marked pause, surprised at my own boldness. I am making it very clear what my answer would be should Carlisle ask my hand… something my mother has made it very clear a young lady should never make clear. "I do like children, though."

"Have you considered teaching?"

"No… but it's a good idea… though I don't know who'd want me in front of their impressionable youngsters."

"I'd let you teach my children," he teases, and I laugh.

The waiter reappears.

_Never mind the fall, so long as they fall together…_

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	16. Chapter 16

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_Twined and falling… _

The evening is over, and the sky is dark. Carlisle leads me back to the car. I am not ashamed at my gimpy walk, since it means he is touching me…

He's old enough to be your father. And he's leaving you tomorrow forever.

Get over it. I keep telling myself that. Time to get over it.

This isn't really working. I can't find the strength to not want to cling to him, but I know if I do I'll only get ripped to pieces. One week of my life, and something in my essential makeup's changed so much… he's a part of me now. He's where I want my life to go and as much as I know he won't be, I can't change that.

We drive in silence except for the gentle hum of the crackling engine. The pale moon gleams above like a pearl, untouched in the sky but for tiny flaws on the surface. The inside is perfection itself, I'm sure. The sky is an inky black curtain, nothing but lack of light for all the miniscule dots called stars. They shine bright, but they are pitiful next to the darkness.

I feel the vibration of the seat beneath me, the perfection of the face beside me… I can't see it, though it is so near. And yet I can see Carlisle perfectly every time I close my eyes.

The darkness surrounds us, but in his covered car I feel very safe. There is no need to talk, only to listen as the world grows close around us.

We arrive at the hospital. It is eleven at night. This day is over, and I cannot stretch it out any further.

He guides me out of the car, and we lurch forward for the hospital. Just outside the door, he stops me, winding his second cold arm around my waist to meet his other one. "Esme, this is the last time I can ever do this… once we go inside, we have to start pretending this never happened, that we don't love each other. It's going to end the minute I walk in that door. So, just so you know… I love you."

"And I love you." These are true, true words. I sigh, and he pulls me to him. One last time we kiss, desperately and gently, passionately and chastely. His lips are as cold and smooth as glass, and I can feel him breathing against me… Carlisle, I love you.

I always will.

But it's over. Everything ends. This just perished sooner than most. Every romance is doomed in the end. Ours just had a championing brevity.

I sigh as he pulls away. "Good-bye, Esme. I love you."

"I love you, Carlisle."

These finally spoken words echo in the world around us. He holds the door open and I hobble through, on my own feet. Again, the sense of significance strikes me, of weighty symbolism, but I am too busy tasting the remnants of his breath to bother pondering.

_ Fall apart…_

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	17. Chapter 17

**MY BAD! sorry i double-posted...**

_Fallen love…_

I do not sleep that night. He works the entire time, and though we do not speak or interact, it is a comfort. The night is long, and dark, and empty, and strangely sweet in shared presence.

It is all I need. I do not even think. I merely lie immobile like a sponge and soak up his being there. I absorb it, take it in, make it a part of myself stored away for the long hard days to come. It is all that will get me through, I know. If all the memories I have are from this long, calm night, I cannot complain. If I have moments of contentment in his presence, it is all I can ask.

For the rest of my life, this will be in my dreams, this night. I should perhaps lust for something more impossible… for something like having him lie beside me, in our shared bed, man and wife…

Forever.

But forever seems little more than a hopeless dream. The only thing I will ever know is memories.

Somehow it is enough.

"Esme?" he whispers, as the first pink touches the sky. I see outside my window the clouds of night recede, leaving a blanket fluorescent with all the warmest shades.

"Yes?"

"Did you sleep at all?"

"No."

"You'll have to eventually," he answers, calm and cool. His voice is filled with compassion, and though I love it, I am hurt… it is a distant voice, the love he shares with all the world, not the fire within that was once, albeit so briefly, mine.

"I know. I'd rather not it be when I can be with you, though."

"I'm so sorry," he says, and it hangs in the air. It is the last thing there is to say. Maybe there would be some comfort in repeating the range of emotion from adoration to regret, but repetition inspired tedium in me always. It's over. There truly is nothing we can do.

I could say I forgive him, but I would prefer not to have the last thing I say to the man I love be a lie.

He looks at me then, long and slow and still, and walks to the bed where I lie. His cold hand traces my face, pausing over my lips.

He doesn't kiss me. He doesn't move at all, just stands there for a second, touching my face, and then sighs deeply.

"My shift's over. Good-bye…"

He walks away. I know I will never see him again.

It strikes me as callous that the last words we'll ever exchange are so empty, so common-place. I know a vow of undying devotion isn't strictly possible, not when he's a reputation to maintain, and my parents don't care for the concept of love… but I know I would at least have liked one more kiss.

I would cry or punch the pillow, but pain and sleep deprivation have taken their toll. I am too exhausted to do anything, even to sleep. I lie in gray existence.

And somehow I am relieved.

It is over. The daydream has ended. Lurching back to real life will hurt, but it can start happening. At least there is nothing more to dread.

_Fell, fell, fall…_

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	18. Chapter 18

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_Alone, their final parting _

"Esme, darling, are you all right?"

My mother stands worriedly over my bed. I know exactly what she's thinking. Not Esme, not my key to society, not my little tool…

Maybe I underestimate the woman. Maybe she is genuinely worried for her only child. I doubt it, though. The look on her face is devoid of compassion. Then again, maybe, maybe, I am spoiled. Maybe I expect too much of any person, having known the way Carlisle takes in another's pain and makes it his own. Maybe he's the only one who can do that.

But maybe not.

I sigh. This is pointless. I can spend the rest of my life debating this and never find satisfaction. I, in fact, may. "I'm much better, mother."

"Glad to be heading home, I'm sure," Father suggests. I smile weakly… I can't bring myself to grant verbal assent to this hideous idea. I am miserable that I must leave. I want to stay here forever, but that isn't really an option.

"Well, there's no reason to stay here. I'll get her trunk."

My father walks away, presumably to fetch said luggage. Mother stares at me.

After an awkward moment, she speaks. "Esme, dear, aren't you going to get up?"

"I can't."

"Oh. I'm sorry, that's right. Shall I call the doctor to help?"

I am sure my mother has no idea why I freeze at that idea. I'm certain she's rather puzzled at my utter rigidity, at my stone face and deep empty breaths.

But I can't stifle my reaction. I am deeply affected. I weigh the options. There was a sense of finality, of it being over, at the last. It is not meant to continue. We have had our final parting.

And yet. The desire to see him burns. I have one last chance, one more try, one more second to send in his presence. It isn't right, maybe, but it doesn't seem possible to resist the urge to see him another time.

"Yes… yes, that's right. Call Carl… Doctor Cullen." I bet her confusion doesn't fade at the weakness of my voice, or the extend pause prior to my response.

My mother bustles from the room, her skirts a rustle and her movements awhirl.

I stare at the ceiling. Will it be harder, knowing? Will it hurt more having seen him the last time? Or would it have been more problematic to have to dwell without him, with the knowledge I was so near…

I am utterly uncertain. Yet the decision has been made. It is a final thing. There is no other turn, no way to escape the choice. It may not have been what was meant to happen, but it is the only thing that will have me survive the years alone. So I sit and wait, as the rest of my life will be an agony of waiting.

It will be good practice.

I snicker at that, lying helpless on the bed, waiting.

_ And alone they fall apart…_

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	19. Chapter 19

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_Undulating rhythm…_

He arrives with a sad smile. "Well, let's get you home, Miss Platt."

"Thanks, Dr. Cullen."

When my mother nods at this exchange, turning aside to straighten one of her gloves, he winks at me. There is a clear message. _Let's see who can fool her better._

It becomes a game.

"Now, mind you take good care of that leg. Remember what I've said."

_That I love you._ The insinuation is heavy, and I match it with some of my own. "Thank you for taking such good care of me. I'll try not to trouble you again any time soon."

"You do that. And stay out of the trees, Esm- Miss Platt. It's safer to have both feet on the ground."

"But not as much fun… Well, I'll keep it in mind, Dr. Cullen. Thank you very much."

"My pleasure." He extends his hand and lifts me effortlessly out of the bed with the motions we've practiced so carefully over the last week. For an instant, when my mother's eyes are averted, he presses his lips to my hand silently.

Mother is standing right there. I roll my eyes at him, and he stifles a laugh.

This is a sweet parting. If we must leave each other, this is the way to do it… happily, enjoying each other's presence until the very last. I grin at him, subtly of course, and his hand catches mine.

"Mrs. Platt, I think I may need to help your daughter get down to the automobile. You and your husband may ride home, as my automobile is only a two-seater, but I don't think a carriage or horse is safe for Miss Platt. Her leg is still quite cumbersome… though once it starts healing I recommend she exercise it regularly."

I note how prettily he worked in the promised insinuation to allow my freedom. I smile in silent gratitude.

My mother turns toward Carlisle, frowning. "Well, I'm not certain… it mightn't be proper…" she demurs.

"Now, mother. Don't insult Dr. Cullen. He's taken the very best care of me, and he only means to ascertain I arrive home safely. Would you want all his hard wok healing me to go to waste?"

"Still…"

I apply a slight tinge of guilt. "You left me in his company all week, without bothering to bid me good-bye. I should think a little auto ride wouldn't be a problem."

Mother turns an embarrassed color, wringing her delicate hands. "Very well, Esme. I'll see you at home very soon."

The last words are a clear warning. I can almost sense the threat in them.

"Of course, Mother. I shall be right there."

She is still twiddling her glove as she runs out the door. Presumably she chases my father. Sometimes I utterly despise my parents…

It is not a decent thought, not at all. Even less virtuous is the excitement at this last hour or so to spend with Carlisle.

My mother disappears from the hallway, her form gone from sight. As soon as she is invisible, my beautiful doctor turns to face me.

Carlisle grins at me. "Well played, Esme," he whispers.

_Falling together, apart, by even turns…_

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	20. Chapter 20

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_One last moment,_

He holds me by both hands as we walk to the automobile, supposedly to support my broken leg. Of course.

I totally believe that…

I laugh again, and am forced to whisper an explanation in his ear. He joins in my merriness. Ah, Carlisle.

That might be what I'll miss most of all.

Yet, in my empty life ahead there will be ample time for such musings. My final instants in his presence are not the allocated opportunity. I am just going to enjoy myself. Plenty of chances for morbidity will present themselves, I'm certain.

"Well, I suppose we must go."

"Indeed. Unfortunately."

He escorts me to the auto. Again, I am cautiously guided in. There is just a second's pause before he's on the other side of me, strapped into his seat, the engine roaring into consciousness.

We have been driving for only a second when he breaks from his deep thoughts. His tone is graver than I've ever heard it before as he asks, "Esme, do you love me?"

I answer so quickly I scarcely need to think. "Yes. More than anything else."

He sighs at that, apparently not relieved from his internal turmoil. "And if I told you… what if you could be with me, marry me, be my wife… forever. But you'd have to give up everything else. Your whole life, your life itself. What would you choose, Esme?"

I sense the secret again. The reason he must leave me has been revealed, albeit subtly, so I cannot sense what lies within it. "You. No matter what it costs me…"

For some reason, these true words seem forced, stiff. I realize how very formal my speech is, how archaic and verbose, the declaration of love in so… awkward a way.

That's it. It's awkward.

There is a stiffness in the air between, and though we do not veil the truth, it is coated in insecurity. We no longer know what to say to one another…

Part of it is the power I feel coming from this subject. This is important, desperately so, and I don't know why. Something says it is the only way this won't end now, if I find out the right thing to tell him, to assure him I can stay with him… and I don't know what.

His sigh only deepens, a wide wrinkle furrowing the perfection of his brow. I can see an inexplicable torment in his perfect features.

Finally, I whisper, unsure, "I want you to be happy. I love you."

"Esme… I can't. I'm sorry."

"Can't what?"

"Can't do it."

I haven't a clue what he's talking about, but I take his hand, marveling again at his cold smooth fingers, and smile. "It's all right."

He doesn't meet my eyes. "No. No, it's not. And I can't fix the whole world…"

"You fixed me."

"No, I didn't. All I can do is try to be good within myself, and I don't know if it's worth it. If I can overcome what I've done, what I've become…"

What sin could he have committed, that he would lose all hope for his soul? I am burning with curiosity. "You can. I know it."

His knuckles brush mine. "Thank you, Esme."

_Falling final, _

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	21. Chapter 21

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_Down, down, down,_

The rest of the ride is spent in silence. Perhaps it isn't what we should do, but it seems natural. Like what we could do if we could spend forever together, as we won't. It has become apparent I gave the answer both right and wrong.

It was correct. It hit the spot, stilling the agony in his soul.

And it damned me to an entire life spent without him.

I grit my teeth at the thought.

No. Didn't I decide I would do this without pain and longing glances? Didn't I determine I would be no Juliet?

Strange and incomprehensible Dukes may banish my Romeo, but there is no knife that will find its sheath in my heart. I will live without him, and I will enjoy it. I must. I don't particularly want to, mind. I'd like to wallow in despair, to spend the rest of forever dreaming of an impossible return to his arms, but it isn't precisely practical.

He parks the automobile at the end of my parents' street, guiding me from the car. I ask why, and he grins. "Well, Esme, it's rather difficult to say good-bye properly in an auto."

"And by say good-bye properly you mean…"

His arms are around me before I can blink, his lips on mine, weaving around them, soft and fervent.

It goes on. I am thoroughly out of breath before long. I can feel his breath in my mouth, however, and that is a need considerably greater than that for oxygen. So I pull back from that desire, pulling Carlisle against me instead.

He responds in kind. Does the man not need to breathe?

I determine it is altogether possible he doesn't. It would make sense. Perhaps he's totally different than all I know, not merely more beautiful and good and kind, but also without the simple needs of we mere humans.

I laugh against his lips, and he finally pulls away. I suck in a deep breath, reveling in the clear scent of the air, the crispness against my tongue, as his lips move to my throat and jaw. I sigh and pull him back to meet me.

We stand there, intertwined in a perfect embrace, for who knows how long. However, it does end, and his hand meets my lips. It is a single quivering instant. I feel very small, almost weak, beneath his touch.

"Esme," he begins, then hesitates. It is a while before he can speak. "Esme. I cannot do it. I cannot take your life… I'm sorry. I love you too much, so much. I will never see you again, I know that. And so I must say it. Good-bye, dearest. I love you."

My shoulders are heavy with the weight of his choice. "I love you too. And I, unlike you, know we will meet again someday."

"Think you we will see one another in heaven?"

"Wherever I see you becomes heaven," I say, and his eyes cloud.

We begin the agonizing walk to the door. It is pain in more ways than one.

_Fall, child. Fall._

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	22. Chapter 22

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_No point in standing, _

I thank her for her help. She, unfortunately, doesn't leave.

"Esme, I must speak to you."

"Mother, I truly think a broken leg is ample discipline for one count of unauthorized tree-climbing. Truly."

She sighs and sits on the bed, without bothering to ask my permission. I wince as the mattress bounces against my leg. "That isn't want I meant to talk about. Dear, it's about Dr. Cullen."

She can't have seen it. My mother has always been so blind to everything that mattered to me before… why this, why now? Fate truly disgusts me sometimes.

"Esme, I noticed… he seems very enamored of you. Do you suppose…"

"Absolutely not. He's very nice. I liked him a good deal."

"Would you be opposed to marrying him?"

I can't lie. It is a subject I feel too strongly about to convincingly deliver a falsehood. "No."

There is an expression of satisfaction on her face, a _well, that's settled then_ smile. I sigh and add, "But I don't think he's looking for a wife."

"All men are looking for a wife. He may just not know it yet."

I almost laugh at the irony of that. If only she knew… if only everything between us was factored into her careful calculations, maybe she'd have a different result. "And he's thirty."

"So?"

"I'm fourteen years younger than him."

"I'm twelve years younger than your father. It's not such a big deal…"

It didn't matter to me either, in all honesty, but I couldn't very well tell her the truth. _We're in love, and he's keeping a mysterious secret that tears us asunder. Now I'm going to spend the rest of my life pining for an impossible romance._

"Mother, I'm tired…"

"All right, all right. Get some rest. I just wanted… something for you to think about."

A stiff nod is all I can manage.

She looks at me for a second and rises, her skirts a rustle, her head held high. Mother walks like a queen, always has, and I envy her grace. Perhaps if I could walk like her, he wouldn't have had to leave… No, that is silly. I know he liked me, bumbling boy-step and all. It is counter-productive to doubt myself, when I know it is merely a failure of circumstance and not one in Carlisle or myself.

I shake out of my thoughts and turn my attention to the task at hand. I need to go to sleep.

I am left to struggle into my nightgown alone. It is no easy task with the cumbersome broken leg, but I manage. Finally, I can sleep… I am alone, with nothing to do but rest. Of course, my thoughts will attempt to prevent me. I smooth down the covers, pulling the white sheet past my head, until I see nothing, not even the torment of my memories playing behind my eyes.

I stare into the darkness and wait for sleep. It is quite a wait.

_Fall, into the night…_

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	23. Chapter 23

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_But one fall's forbidden,_

The morning dawns on my open eyes. I groan when I realize I have not slept even the proverbial wink. I truly hope this doesn't become a pattern.

I lie in bed, utterly bored, the entire day. There is nothing to distract me from my dully throbbing leg and the exhaustion clogging the sharpness of my sight. I truly want to go back to sleep, but every time I close my eyes, his face appears behind them as though summoned aloud.

My mother interrupts my brooding twice on the first day, bearing food. I eat without tasting. It isn't truly like I'm incapable of moving from the hurt in my heart. It's really the leg that prevents me from rising. Or so I tell myself.

I can't bear to admit my weakness, that I could like some swooning heroine be overcome by loneliness in such a way.

I sigh. This is truly ridiculous, lying here lying to myself. I ought to realize he is never, never coming back…

I am embarrassed by the pain that ripples through me at that point.

Two days, Esme. You have two days to get yourself up and out of this bed. That is all. We are not tolerating anything other than that.

And now I'm talking to myself. Excellent. I've gone and lost my mind, forever this time.

This won't work. I have to get myself in shape.

There. I'll cut a little deal. When the leg starts to work, so will I. I will function again. My body will be healed, just as if this had never happened.

I try to pretend that is possible. I know, however, that I will never forget.

Perhaps it's a good thing. I've been changed so irrevocably. Now I know there is something within me so powerful that I can love him. I am certain I can be the heroine of my own life. I know what it is to live a life worth living.

I sigh at that redundant sentence. Life has turned to little twists and turns, redundant circles, circular paradoxes that turn and turn and never go anywhere.

That's what I'll be doing forever. Always looking over my shoulder for him… but he'll never be there.

I groan again. This is frankly quite unfair. How can he have stood it? If it were me who got the choice, nothing could make me leave… unless…

I have it. I know the secret, what he wouldn't tell me. Yes, I am quite sure now. It is laughably obvious, in fact. I wish I'd been just a bit less obtuse, discovered it a little sooner, so I could have confronted him and he wouldn't have left.

No use wishing, really. But it would be nice to tell him what I know.

It is an irrevocable discovery. I cannot articulate it at first, but if there's anything I've plenty of, it's time to think. I can't walk or do anything, and I haven't any company, so I'm stuck stewing. Finally, I can put it perfectly.

_No respite, no, no sleep…_

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	24. Chapter 24

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_ But only stupor,_

He's afraid. I don't know why, but that's it. There's something about being with him that could endanger me, and it's making him terrified. That's why he had to go, or more accurately wouldn't let me stay. Because somehow, he's dangerous.

Maybe that's why he's so obscure when it comes to his past. It's the reason why he won't tell me anything. The danger isn't him, of course not. Carlisle would never hurt anyone. But maybe his family is somehow related to the sort of folk one ought not associate with.

That's it. Yes, I never liked the sound of his father anyway.

And maybe he doesn't want to bring me into a world like that. He doesn't want to corrupt me, because he loves me. He doesn't want me hurt.

Silly man. To think he could endanger me, to think I cared! I'd follow him to the end of the earth. I would do anything he asked. If only he hadn't left!

But maybe it's best.

The thought gives me pause. It seems somehow a betrayal. But it isn't, not really. I have no hope of ever seeing him again. Maybe the best thing is to make some faulting halting attempt at a normal life. Not pretending he never happened, but living in order to be the sort of person he would want.

That's a good philosophy, isn't it. Maybe he's some kind of angel, sent from heaven to make young girls stop disobeying their parents and climbing trees by instilling in them a love for the perfect goodness that wears that perfect face.

Ah, his face. I could remember it all day long, down to the exact shade of his eyes. Strange, that his eyes and hair are the same color. I've met such a thing in a brunette before, but never golden.

That is decidedly both. Like the color of gold. Spun gold, gold in delicate jewels, gold shining on the surface of coins, the gold in a prince's sword and his lady's crown, noble and royal and pure. It shines.

I can see every inch of his face, skin white as snow, features even and straight, jaw wide and strong. I can see his lips curving into a smile, his teeth white and identical like a baby's.

I can see him, and I regret the vision.

It is very painful.

I know I will never see him again. Yet even knowing that, I know he is all I will ever see.

What a pretty conundrum.

And then I imagine him here beside me, that perfect hand like a statue of purest marble laying on my shoulder, pale pink lips leaning towards mine, eyelashes dancing from the undiluted power of his eyes…

I am lost in the memory. Well, maybe half memory and half daydream.

I lie in bed and close my eyes.

No sleep falls, just his lips… into mine. It is perfect, utterly so, and equally impossible.

I smile in my despair.

_Falling into nothing…_

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	25. Chapter 25

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_ Nothing to live for and nothing to love,_

On the twelfth day, I get out of bed, look around, and decide it's over. I'm done. There will be no more memories. The part of me that is madly in love with him will be locked up in a little mental safe, taken out only occasionally, when I'm ready to handle it without throwing myself in his imagined arms.

I smooth out my dress and, as per orders, remove the long bandage from my leg. The piece of white cloth, so innocuous on the outside, hides horrifying contents. The interior edge of it, which has had almost three weeks to marinate against my wound, is stained with gore. There is yellow mucus and green pus all along it. The smell makes me wince and pinch the edge of my nose.

Horrific. Terrifying. Disgusting. Horrible. Repellent. _Gross._

The thesaurus trick worked. Analytic repetition of my appalled response actually decreased the response itself. I pushed the… tainted… bandage away, looking down at my leg. I was almost afraid of what I'd find.

Fortunately, it was in no way similar to what it had produced. Apparently, all the nastiness had been leeched off, pulled into the bandage, as the leg healed, the wound draining perfectly.

My leg was as straight and clean and perfect as if nothing had ever happened. Even the skin was unbroken.

One more virtue to add to his list. It was starting to stretch into infinity. Not only was he beautiful, compassionate, kind, loving, he was also possibly the best doctor ever.

Just great. No wonder I'd lost him. Of all the men in the world, you have to pick the one who's perfect.

I stand. This is fruitless. I want to change my clothes. It's been too long… this gown reeks.

I pick something light blue and ordinary, then lurch downstairs. It is difficult. It doesn't hurt, but it's been so long I can scarcely remember how to walk. Strange, isn't it?

My parents are most surprised to see me. "Esme, you're walking?"

"I feel much better, actually." I am proud of my self, and feeling generous enough to grant them each a wide smile. They smile back. It is what I've always wanted from my life, only somehow… empty. It isn't so wonderful now that I've wanted more.

Him, specifically. No other fulfillment will ever compare to what I experienced with him.

I sit with my parents. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all, dearest. Would you care for some refreshments?"

I help myself to a pastry. I try to eat it delicately, though I am ravenous. My mother had somehow gotten an idea that her invalid child should be kept on tea and toast. It is the first real food I've seen in ages.

I answer my parents' conversational questions with as little effort as possible. Nothing really matters to me, I just speak. It comes neither from head or heart but from some other place inside me, somewhere empty.

I wonder if they see.

_Falling…_

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	26. Chapter 26

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_ The downward spiral,_

"Esme, we're going to have callers this afternoon."

"Whom?" I ask. My grammar has improved immensely since the Carlisle incident. In fact, I spend most of the days embroiled in a complex game. I pretend to be utterly unaffected. I made believe I was the perfect daughter, competing with myself for the most extravagant lie. It was rather fun. At night, I would turn out the light and laugh myself to sleep. Everyone was so incredibly gullible. Could they not see it was all an act, that I was absolutely miserable _all the time,_ that I woke up in the morning and went to bed at night looking into his imagined eyes, that I loathed every person I saw because they couldn't compare to him?

"A Mr. and Mrs. Masen, and their son Edward. Mr. Masen is a successful lawyer, and his son is almost thirteen, about your age."

"Actually, I'm seventeen. Four years is quite a difference."

"Oh, it's not much. Your father is twelve years older than me."

"I'm sure you're right, Mother. I do look forward to it." Excellent. I'll have to suffer the bumbling forced attentions of a prepubescent child only noticing me because our parents think it would be a good idea.

"They've come all the way from Chicago to visit some relatives. They've an automobile, so it only took three days, but they're going to be here two nights."

"Excellent. That will be such a lovely length of time to acquaint myself with the young Mister Masen. Such a pleasant time it will be!"

I almost retch at my own falsified enthusiasm. It's so falsely sweet it nauseates me, like a cake covered in caramel and served with lemonade.

"I'm so glad you're amenable, Esme. I know Edward is younger than you, but he is an upstanding young man from a fine family. Perhaps…"

"Oh, I'm sure we'll get along nicely." Actually, playing along with this may not be so terrible. He's a child. He isn't likely to want _me, _and so I can buy a little time.

Like I need more. I am positively drowning in time.

"I certainly hope so. Now, they'll be here any minute, so I'd appreciate it terribly if you'd dress for visitors."

"But of course, Mother."

I escape up the stairs. I'm only sixteen, and my mother is so desperate to have me married and gone she's enlisting the help of infants. I grumble a little, and then I'm so miserable, so obviously upset, that I start to laugh. They really don't know me at all, do they?

I'm nothing like the person they think I am. I really should run away and join a theater. I'm the greatest actress in the century. I spend every day playing a part so perfectly my own parents believe it. Sometimes, I almost believe it myself, this character I've become.

It may not seem funny, but if Carlisle were here, he'd get the joke.

_Falling into an empty forever, _

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	27. Chapter 27

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_ And the thing about forever is it never ends…_

The knock comes suddenly. I am still fiddling emptily with my hair, trying to figure out which way it looks most becoming. Costuming is an important part of any part. I don't have a whole wardrobe, so I do the best I can. It's really rather fun. Now I know why all the girls my age are constantly giggling over fashions, though I personally am rather disinterested.

I survey myself with an objective eye. Not bad. The dress is high-cut, not at all immodest, the skirt ruffled and dragging on the floor. It is light blue, a color I don't particularly care for, but that is currently all the rage. My hair is swept off my shoulders.

I want to cry, looking at myself. I look like a woman, and I don't look like I've enjoyed anything for the past twenty years. Not a woman in the sense of maturity. I look like I'm older than my mother. Matronly. Stodgy.

Not interesting in the least.

I won't let myself go down the destructive pattern of thought that shows itself. _Is that why he left? Because you're boring?_

No. I'm not going to do that to myself. Carlisle loved me, and he presumably still does. I'm not going to doubt that. His leaving had nothing to do with me.

I have to believe it. I cannot afford insanity at this stage of the game.

I look pretty enough, as beautiful as my features will afford. It isn't much. I am the picture of today's lady, despite that this style makes me look like a grandmother.

I walk slow and stately down the stairs. My mother smiles and nods at my grand entrance. It's exactly the way she wanted it. How fantastic for her.

"And this is my daughter, Esme."

"A pleasure," the man says. "I'm Mr. Masen."

"Charmed," I murmur. I am making myself ill with all this feigned sweetness. I may never be able to eat dessert again.

"The same. I'm Elizabeth, and this is…" she indicates the boy. I like the woman. She shares her son's bronze hair and bright green eyes. It makes her look a bit on the wild side. And I'm always fond of an adult who respects me enough to let me use their first name. This is where I pointedly _don't _say "Carlisle" under my breath.

"Edward Masen." He is surly, and shockingly short.

"A joy to make your acquaintance, Edward. I'm ever so glad to have companionship my age." I wouldn't be surprised if this boy runs away from my act screaming. In fact, I'd probably like him better if he did.

"Well, we'll leave you children to get to know each other. Mr. Masen, Mrs. Masen, may I show you to the parlor?"

My mother escorts the adult visitors out.

_You children._ I scoff.

"So, what do you do, Edward?"

"I attend school and play piano." His voice is perfectly monotone.

"A most respectable pastime." For a while, I await his response, to ask me anything, make some kind of conversation. Finally, I give up and sit in an awkward silence.

This is more of an ordeal than I'd anticipated.

_It's not so fun to fall forever,_

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	28. Chapter 28

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_ Sometimes you want to reach ground,_

The boy is so _stiff. _I just want to reach out and shake him, hard. I can't, but it's going right under "marry Carlisle" on my Impossible Wishlist.

Or smack him. That might be equally satisfying. I grumble to myself.

Finally, Edward does _something._ "I'm sorry, Esme. I am not very good company. I'm simply not a people person. And no offense, but I don't wish to marry you."

I appreciate the honesty. In fact, I find myself reevaluating this boy. "Frankly, Edward, I don't wish to marry you. I don't wish to marry anyone… well, one person, but that's a moot point which has nothing to do with this conversation."

"I just didn't want you thinking I despised you. I'm not who I act like when forced into the company of pretty young women for long periods of time."

"That happens frequently?"

"Yes. My mother would like to see me married."

"So would mine."

"I'm surprised you aren't. You seem very acceptable."

I glower at him. What a dingy compliment. "Well, I find you acceptable."

"I meant to society as a whole. Not to me personally… wait, that was offensive again. This is what I meant about my utter lack of social skills. You seem like the kind of person people would like. Very…"

"Normal? Well, I try." He seems utterly bewildered by this admittedly bewildering statement.

"Excuse me?"

I decide to just tell him the truth. He's been very honest with me, once he got over the standoffishness. "I'm not who I've been acting like either. I'm a disobedient tomboy in love with a mysterious doctor who rode off into the sunset and forgot to take me with him when he went. I'm pretending to be normal so my mother leaves me alone."

"I hope it works for you, Esme." He seems honest. I smile at him.

"I hope so too. So, now that you're talking, are you less boring than you pretended to be?"

"I like to think so."

"Elaborate."

"Well, I want to be a soldier. Of course, I'm not old enough, but the Great War in Europe gets worse every day. We're bound to join in soon."

"Why would you want to be part of that?" All the killing, the horror…

He stares at me, clearly not understanding. "Because. It's the right thing to do! Our country… Men are needed to fight. And they'll be a chance for so much glory! We'll be remembered forever! Anyone can go fight, and anyone…"

"Anyone can die."

"Exactly!" His eyes are feverish. "Anyone. Everyone's the same…"

"But why do you want to all be the same?"

"To unite! For the nation, for the world, for freedom and democracy!"

He sounds like a fanatic. And here I was liking this boy. "Oh. Well, I really hope you don't get yourself killed."

He looks away angrily. After a pause, he says, "When you're done destroying my dreams, why don't you share some of yours?"

_But there's no end to falling…_

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	29. Chapter 29

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_Falling purposeless,_

It is a moment before I can admit it. "I don't… I don't have any."

"Hah!" It is a word, not a laugh. "And you mock me!"

"At least I'm not too proud. Hubris, Edward. That's your fatal flaw. How original."

His eyes glint with fury. This is growing addictive. It's the first memorable moment in my life since Carlisle left it. "Well, at least I'm not some caricature of a fairy-tale maiden. Wasting away in her father's castle because her one true love left her, forced into a marriage she doesn't want, certain to be saved by that shining-armored knight one of these days…"

"While we're talking about clichés… The good little momma's boy, just _aching _to go off to war, to serve his country, good for him. And yet his beloved mother wants him to stay at home and learn and marry some nice girl. Of course, he ends up falling in love, thereby saving his own life. Happy endings ensue."

I feel slightly bad for chewing out this adolescent, but I am too busy reveling in the sudden sense of being alive that I feel. I sense my heart beating, my blood flowing, my cheeks rushing with the healthy excitement. I am glad to be real.

"I won't deny you your happy ending. But you can't say you're exactly original."

"I'm not wasting away. I'm in love, but I'm also living a normal life, and if you weren't an immature baby you'd understand that!"

"If you weren't blinded by your own self-pity you'd see past your own hairstyle!"  
I lean towards him, furious. "I don't give a _damn_ what my hair looks like. I'm not that kind of girl. I am doing my very best to get over something more powerful than you can imagine, and I don't appreciate accusations of… of pretending to be what I'm not. I don't like you dismissing my feelings, because what I felt was _real_ and it's none of your business whether or not I get over it. I'm not making this up or putting on some damsel in distress act to get attention, because I don't care what you think of me."

"You don't?" His voice is revoltingly weak, almost shocked. I grimace in disgust.

"No. So get over yourself already!"

"I'm not the vain one in this room, madam."

"Of course not. Because you're perfect!"

"I like to think myself so."

It isn't sarcasm. I search his face for any trace of it, and then realize it isn't there. I fall on the floor laughing, so hard is my mirth. "Who told you that, your mother?"

"Yes. And I think she's right."

"Of course." I shake my head. "Because if you didn't honor your father and mother, you wouldn't be perfect!" Can he really be this ridiculous?

"Precisely. Now you understand." He joins in the laughter. "Did you really believe me? Maybe you're not the only talented actor. Esme, I'm far from perfect… but so are you."

"I know."

"Do you?"

_Nowhere to go,_

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	30. Chapter 30

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_ Nowhere to run to,_

"Yes, I do. I know I'm not good enough, Edward. I understand that well. And I want to make you understand. I'm not at all vain. I just know my good and bad points well."

"I don't get what you mean by not good enough."

"Of course not. But you'll understand that when you're older, little boy." I pat his head with patronizing falsity. He mutters at me. I giggle.

"I look forward to the day my genius and maturity matches yours, oh most knowledgeable and intelligent and adult Esme."

"Don't worry, dear young Edward. I believe I shall do my utmost to aid you in developing the sense of responsibility I possess."

He groans at me. Another most unflattering trait. "And you treat me like a child."

"That's because you_ are _a child. You just don't know it yet, Eddy."

"If you want me to kill you, you'll call me that again."

"I'm a girl. You won't hit me."

He grimaces. "Watch me." There is a pause as he raises his fist. I don't believe it. He doesn't have it in him.

"Most gentlemanly," I approve, scowling. He doesn't actually swing at me, just glares. I meet the stare and then some, boring into his eyes.

They are startlingly green. I am stunned by the intensity of the color. They glint with fury, and I match them with irate strength.

He is a most unusual-looking boy. And an odd interior, also. I wouldn't mind being friends with him. At the very least, it's been interesting. However, interesting isn't going to stop me from being driven absolutely insane by him.

I continue staring him down, and finally he looks away. I grin as I win.

"And you're a wimp. You don't have the courage to actually hit me, and you don't have the patience to endure a little harmless teasing."

"Let me know when you're finished chewing apart my character."

"I'll make it a point."

He doesn't meet my eyes again, though, and I know I've won this round. My smile widens. His shrinks.

"Also, tell me when you've grown up enough to stop playing such silly games."

"You started it."

He isn't sure whether or not I'm joking. Neither am I. This has become an extremely common occurrence. Lie often enough and you're lying to yourself.

Our mothers return, beaming. I recognize the fake smile I so often wear. "Hello, children. I'm glad you've become such good friends."

"We do find each other's company most engaging."

"And stimulating."

"Yes, certainly." I glare at him subtly. _Don't encourage them… unless you _want _to end up married._ He seems to receive the thought quite clearly. I almost see a nod.

"Oh, my dear, how lovely. However, I'm afraid I must take my leave."

"I thought you were staying longer! I'll miss your company, ma'am."

"Well, thank you, but we absolutely must be going."

I wonder why. The Masens get their things and practically flee the house, dragging a mystified Edward.

_Nowhere to fall to,_

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